Facing Forward, Looking Back
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: Sequel to "The Trolley Paradox". It was as if all his old wounds had reopened at once, spilling out and out of control, sweeping him along for the ride.
1. Chapter 1

**Sequel to The Trolley Paradox! Still more angst ahead! Some quotes from Star Trek- I'll let you guess the episode (that I do not own). Enjoy! Multi-chapter, more to come!**

* * *

McCoy knew he couldn't look back.

He'd had almost two decades to practice this. While most people didn't understand this, and often looked down on it, they still normally labeled him as a brooder.

And maybe they were right. It was his natural tendency to reflect on things too much. Which is precisely why he worked hard to not look back. It wasn't a good trait at all, at least for him. He's already had his fair share of misfortune. That's why he and his therapist (from all those years ago) set up his new mandate.

Always look forward.

It was hard, especially at first. Then he got used to it. Sometimes it was harder than normal, maybe something bad had happened (again) but he normally pulled through. He lived from moment to moment.

He looked forward to the small things he could enjoy. A nice dinner invitation from a kind person. The next video chat with Joanna. A good drink of Saurian brandy after a long day. He looked forward to the next scientific discovery. A relaxing shower after a rough away mission. Pleasant conversation with pleasant company. A good walk.

He moved on from moment to moment, and when bad things happened, he absorbed it, felt it, and then knew he had to move on. So he did.

This, however, was difficult.

He sat in his quarters in deep concentration. Occasionally his shoulders would shake. He'd _started_ to move on from his dubious decision on Kathala III, until the Vulcan Council had intervened and _forced_ him to look at it- in every aspect, and from every angle. The 'what if' questions started floating through his head, and they were getting harder and harder to ignore.

Normally, if it was just this, he could handle it. It might take a couple days, but he'd handle it. However, it was as if the interrogation on Vulcan had opened a dam of some sorts. It wasn't _just_ Kathala III that flooded his mind.

His breathing quickened and his shoulders shook more. In a flash he stood up and breezed out of his room.

He furiously walked around the ship, clearing his head, trying to outpace his past demons.

* * *

"Dr. McCoy, report to the bridge."

" _On my way_."

Kirk settled back in his seat. The _Enterprise_ was four days out from Vulcan and headed towards their previous quadrant. They were due to pick up some supplies from Outpost Gamma before heading out into uncharted territory. Though the crisis on Kathala had temporarily diverted them, compounded by the Vulcan summons, they were finally cleared to return to their original mission.

Though Kirk was concerned. The earthquake crisis was enough to deal with, but the questioning from the left field of Vulcan really stung. He didn't like others questioning his officer's choices, and he knew how deeply McCoy felt about his decision. The doctor had just begun to bounce back when the round of doubtful prodding slammed into him.

Now, Kirk had barely seen him since the return to the _Enterprise_. No, he didn't think McCoy was avoiding him- there was no reason for that- but he _had_ been rather reclusive, and Kirk knew that socialization could help push back whatever current haunts surrounded the doctor.

The turbolift doors opened and McCoy walked in. Kirk spun and studied him. He looked a little worn, with the bags under his eyes heavier than usual.

"Hey, Bones, how are things in Sickbay?" he asked cordially.

McCoy stopped by his chair. "You called me up here for that?" he quipped. His voice seemed more tired than usual.

"Not just, Doctor." Kirk gestured the screen. "We're about to pass through a small dust cloud- it's been drifting in this area for thousands of years, now. Spock's calibrating the visual screen to render it by gaseous color code- like they did for old space pictures back in the 21st century. Should be interesting."

He expected a quip about Spock finding it 'logical' to color-correct a dust cloud, but instead McCoy just nodded dully at the screen. Eventually, vibrant blues, reds, and oranges started drifting across the screen. Everyone paused for a moment to observe the imagery. Uhura oohed under her breath.

"Well, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy stayed silent, staring at it. "Looks fine, Jim," he murmured, and drew away from the bridge.

Kirk frowned as the turbolift doors closed. Perhaps it had been too soon.

* * *

McCoy furiously rubbed his eyes. He looked up back in the mirror. He looked away abruptly and rubbed them again.

 _What kind of doctor…_

 _She was SEVEN._

 _Being a doctor… has its drawbacks…_

 _I always wondered why I'd-_

A sharp intake of breath punctured the small bathroom. Voices and pain started echoing around his skin. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and reached for a glass of water. His hand was a claw, and he carefully uncurled it, wincing. He hurt all over.

 _Stop_ , the clinical part of his mind said. _This is psychosomatic. It's not real._

He stumbled out of the bathroom. With each step he hurt even more. His mind swirled as he desperately repeated to himself _it's not real, it's not real, it's not real_.

He collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard. He couldn't move his arms. He shook slightly, but couldn't shift into a more comfortable position. He struggled to keep breathing.

Pale faces seemed to loom over him. They whispered and discussed his condition. He couldn't move, or react in any way. Their large cerebrums pulsed as they spoke. He watched the veins twitch, and then they turned back to face him. His heart leapt to his throat. _Brace yourself, here it comes again._

He choked out a ragged laugh as the torture started again. It turned into a sob, which morphed into a scream-

-and he bolted upright in bed, still in the same position he was when he crawled in. His hands stayed limp on the mattress. McCoy gasped in his breaths, trying to control his thudding heart.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. Flexing his fingers, he tried to will some feeling back into his hands. They tingled infuriatingly.

When he regained some more control, he stood up and briskly walked outside. What time was it? Did he care?

He turned a corner and nearly ran into an ensign walking the other way. "Watch it!" he snapped, his heart beating. She jumped and whatever apology she'd been about to say was scared out of her throat. She scurried off down the corridor.

 _Dammit, McCoy, what were you thinking? There was no reason for that._ He stiffened his shoulders up abrasively at the voice and snorted. _Not like I can retract it, now. What's done is done._

He walked aimlessly and furiously around the ship until it was time for morning shift.

* * *

"How bad is it, Scotty?" Kirk asked, rubbing his forehead.

 _"_ _Bad enough t'give us some trouble, sair, but I should have it fixed by th'time we reach Gamma Outpost."_

"Because that time is lengthened," Kirk supplied.

 _"_ _Well, thair is also that."_

Kirk sighed. "Do what you need to Scotty. And tell your men to stop experimenting with the warp configurations."

 _"_ _Aye, sair. Scott out."_

The captain leaned back in his chair and sighed. The little 'accident' down in Engineering would slow there progress for several days, but at least they weren't at a dead stop. Containment shields were good for something.

He sighed again. "Spock, why don't you see if anything can be done to speed up Scotty's progress?" he suggested to his first officer. "You know how hands-on he is- make him delegate if it means we'll get some of our speed back."

"Understood, Captain." Spock exited the bridge.

"Mr. Chekov, what's our estimated time of arrival?"

"If we continue at zhis speed, we will reach Gamma Outpost in 2 weeks and four days," the ensign replied. He looked up. "Zhat is one week and six days over our previous estimation."

Kirk rubbed his brow and felt a headache coming on. A five day trip was now nearly four times as long.

"Thank you, Chekov. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn… I'm going to see if Sickbay has any pills for a migraine…"

* * *

When he walked into Sickbay he got the last bit of a tirade McCoy was giving the (presumably) engineers responsible for the delay. It seemed to be nothing more than some bandaged hands and regenerated skin, and the doctor promptly swept away into his office. Kirk smirked and looked at the two lieutenants.

"You live through the lecture?"

One nodded while the other spoke. "Aye sir. It was shorter, but," he hesitated. "More vicious."

Kirk could spare him no sympathy. He was tempted to rant himself. "Just follow Dr. McCoy's orders for recovery and there'll be no more problems. You both are also suspended from duty until otherwise instructed. Am I clear?"

They both snapped to attention and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He turned away from them and made his way into McCoy's office. The doors opened smoothly and he saw McCoy fiddling with a PADD, his back to him. Kirk walked in and the doors shut with a _click_.

McCoy jumped and dropped the PADD.

"Blast it, Jim," he said, almost breathless as he scooped up the PADD. "Warn a guy, will you?"

"I just walked through a door," Kirk placated, confused.

"Well, next time, comm or something!" McCoy snapped. He set the PADD down on the desk and cracked his knuckles.

Kirk held up his hands halfway. "Alright, alright, if it bothers you that much." He walked closer, analyzing his friend. "You okay, Bones?"

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and ground out "I'm fine."

"You seem tense."

"Are you a doctor now?" The words were heated.

"No. Just a friend."

McCoy looked up at him and finally relaxed his shoulders. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Now, what can I help you with?"

Kirk pursed his lips but went with the change in conversation. "Headache- feel like Scotty's lieutenants are experimenting in my brain."

McCoy chuckled, if ever-so-slightly forced. "They mean well. Hoped to _increase_ our speed, actually." He tossed Kirk a bottle of pills. "Take two, and call me in the morning."

"You've been waiting a while to say that, haven't you?" Kirk grinned as he unscrewed the bottle.

"Yeah, sure."

Kirk looked up. It wasn't like McCoy to bring the banter to an abrupt halt. The doctor just looked back at him, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say next. He finally waved his hand at Jim. "Let me know if it gets worse."

"Sure, Bones." He set the bottle back down and swallowed the medication in his hand. "Thank you."

A little concerned, he left Sickbay.

* * *

He was certain he was dying.

No, there wasn't a diagnosis. But yet he was absolutely positive he was dying.

He'd been there before, and wanted to rage against it again. Dammit, dammit, he'd beaten death already, he didn't want to go through this again…

He should call Joanna. See her one last time. He tried to reach for the computer terminal but found himself frozen. Why couldn't he move? The last time he was frozen in Sickbay was when…

Now he started shaking, more memories assaulting him. Assault. Why would you do this to a dying man, you bastard?

His breathing quickened.

He didn't hear his office doors open. He couldn't hear anything over his panicked breaths and rapid heartbeat. There were just not-Spock and Joanna and xenopolycythemia and blood-

A pair of blue eyes suddenly filled his vision. He locked on to them, breathing hard. Something cut distantly through the fog. "…see? Leonard… focus… see… tell me… five…"

His eyes stayed locked on those blue. They were light and penetrating, very concerned. When they blinked he noticed that the eyelashes were very full and black… either mascara or fakes were used. He studied them closer, wondering which it was. Those eyes searched him back, and little wrinkles creased at their corners. It didn't look right on her smooth skin. She had very pale skin. And a frown. Chapel was frowning. His vision expanded from her eyes, eyelashes, creases, and skin to encompass her head of hair. It was still brown. She liked to dye her hair a lot, come to think of it. But she was keeping the brown hair for a while. Maybe it was natural.

Chapel was talking. "Okay, now what can you feel?" She gripped his arms and he finally noticed she was holding him by the shoulders. He was also sitting down- the chair was underneath him, but not on his back, since he was rigid. His hands rested on the fabric of his pants, and he smoothed them across his knees automatically. His right hand brushed against the table, and it was cold.

"You're doing great, Leonard. What do you hear? Tell me three things. I want you to actually say them out loud this time."

She kept talking to him. "You," he grated. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated. He heard… he heard the monitors in Sickbay. And a conversation happening in the corridor. His heartbeat was receding from his ears.

He must have said them aloud because Chapel was rubbing his arms. "Good, good, now name me two things you smell."

He turned his head. "'m fine."

"Not yet. Name me two things that you smell."

"Um…" he bit his lip. "Antiseptics." It _was_ Sickbay after all. He breathed in and out, trying to find something else. "Are you wearing perfume?"

She nodded. "And you finally noticed. You're doing great, Leonard." A glass of water was pushed into his hands and he drank it. "…one thing you can taste."

He set it back on the desk and let out a long breath. He looked up. Chapel had released his arms and was looking down at him.

"Thanks, Chris," he murmured. He felt exhausted.

"You're welcome," she replied, surprisingly gentle. "Do you want a relaxant?"

"No, I'll just… I'll just read," he finished awkwardly.

She chewed her lip. "You just had a panic attack," she said softly. "Don't read anything too exciting."

"Yeah." He shakily got to his feet and straightened his tunic. "I think I'm going to retire for tonight."

She nodded sagely. "Good idea. M'Benga's on call if you do need that relaxant."

"Thanks." He stopped before leaving the office and looked at her again. "I mean it."

"I know you do." Her gaze softened. "Get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am."

He would rest only if the nightmares would stop.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well, my apologies for the long update time, but finals are FINALLY over and the semester is DONE so hopefully future chapters will be up faster. Thanks for the reviews, btw! This chapter is lighter on the angst, and more on the hurt/comfort. Not over yet, folks, so stay tuned!**

* * *

Spock did not normally look closely at the crew. Illogical human behavior aside, it was still the medical department's specialty. However, even he could notice a change in the daily dealings. Crewmen just seemed more… anxious, that was a good term for it. There was an unexplained tension almost everywhere.

His research did not add up to these results. They were not currently in a dire circumstance, and the effects from Kathala III should have worn off by now. And yet, the negative, almost depressing attitude continued.

He found an article explaining how moods are transferred among humans, and since the _Enterprise_ was largely Terran, this may explain the widespread attitude pandemic. Now, he just had to find the source.

It had to be someone who was very sociable, or at least in contact with many of the crew. A negative mood may affect a circle of friends, but would die out the further it got from that. Therefore, a lot of people had to be in contact with the source. And whatever was causing the problems in the source had been going on for some time.

So when the ship was five days out from Gamma Outpost, Spock finally walked into Sickbay.

Chapel stood alone in the ward, pursing her lips, looking at the door to McCoy's office. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her hip, and she finally noticed Spock's presence when he was about two feet away from her.

"You seem perplexed, Nurse," he intoned impartially.

"Mm," she shrugged her shoulders. "I'm tempted to send him home."

A dozen thoughts ran through Spock's head- how illogical the statement was when they were nowhere near Earth- but his constant exposure to these idioms had improved his understanding somewhat. "You mean his quarters."

"Yes."

Spock, too, looked at the door. "Is there any particular reason as to why?"

She sighed. "Leonard's stressed."

"About what?"

"That's the thing- I'm not sure. But since returning from Vulcan he's been a wreck. He's got an increased startle response, he snaps more often at people, his patience and attention span are shorter and I _know_ he hasn't been sleeping well." She rubbed her arms and made eye contact with Spock. "Don't tell anyone, but I had to talk him out of a panic attack last week."

Spock considered all of this. He knew the doctor was fully capable of handling stress and dealing with emergency scenarios with a professional calm that rivaled even a Vulcan's. While endlessly emotional, the doctor _did_ reign it in where it counted- though it appeared he has been unable to do so for the last couple weeks.

"As I understand it, these may be symptoms to a mental problem?" Spock nudged.

She nodded after a slight hesitation. "M'Benga and I want to go for a PTSD diagnosis," she admitted. "But that requires the symptoms to last for over month- best we have now is acute stress disorder."

"In that scenario, symptoms last a month or less," Spock observed.

"Yes, but-"

"It has been three weeks. The symptoms have not even begun to abate. If it was as simple as acute stress disorder, I believe we would start to seem them fade about now. As it is, the situation has been getting _worse_. I do not believe you are inaccurate in your first assumption."

Chapel smiled tightly. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. But Dr. McCoy would know this, too. He's been taking medication- nothing's worked."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps, I shall see what the doctor plans to do next."

He strode swiftly for the office door, hardly sparing another word. They slid open and he walked to the desk.

McCoy looked up at him. He looked haggard. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath.

"Can I help you, Spock?"

Spock folded his hands behind his back. "It is not good for crew morale for the doctor treating them to look gravely ill," he informed. "I will escort you to your quarters."

McCoy's eyes flashed anger as he surged out of his chair. "Now wait a minute! You can't just remove me from duty-"

"This is not an indefinite relief. It is merely retiring you for the night. The shift ends in 13.2 minutes, and in your state the difference is irrelevant. You need rest."

"What, are you a doctor now?" McCoy protested as Spock grabbed his arm and steered him out into the corridor. "I can't just leave like this- there's paperwork to be done-"

"You are ahead on reports."

"People need to be treated-"

"Sickbay was empty."

"My staff-"

"Is highly capable. Please desist in these excuses."

"Now listen here, you green-blooded-"

"Name-calling is childish, Doctor, and only supports the point that you have officially run out of arguments against this course of action."

McCoy huffed and tugged his arm. "Are you going to walk me like this all the way there?"

"To ensure that you will follow instructions, yes."

"People will talk."

"I never pay heed to gossip."

"Lucky you," McCoy drawled. "What about dinner, huh?"

"I was unaware you still partook in that meal." Spock stopped him with a challenging look.

McCoy straightened his shoulders. _Shoot, he knows._ "I've been busy."

"You've been neglectful of your own health."

"Oh, I have, have I?" McCoy rolled his eyes. "You can't recover from something in a day."

"Indeed, you cannot. But it will start, _today_."

They walked in the turbolift and McCoy turned to him. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously.

"Precisely what it implies. You are sick, Doctor, though not with a physical ailment. Plans must be made to recover."

"Who told you?"

"No one, initially. I have noticed."

McCoy looked away. "Well, Sickbay's the place for recovery." He kept watching the deck numbers fly by on the turbolift.

"Not necessarily." Spock led him out when the doors opened.

"It's where the medicines are, where any counseling sessions are held…" McCoy's steps slowed the closer they got to his quarters. "C'mon, Spock, please."

They stopped in front of McCoy's door and Spock studied him. "Why are you so reluctant?"

McCoy's nervous eyes shifted to the door, then back to Spock. "It's too… much, never mind. Just don't make me stay in there."

Spock continued to study him. The anxiety the doctor was exuding was only growing. No wonder the other crewmen felt it.

"Very well," Spock decided. "Then you are welcome to stay in my quarters for the evening. I have some documents I must review and plenty to read, so we should not get in each other's way too badly."

McCoy's mouth was hanging open slightly. He blinked rapidly several times. "Spock, I don't know what to say-"

"Then I believe, to use a common phrase among humans, that your actions may speak louder than words." Spock's door slid open when he approached it, and he stood aside to let McCoy fast.

Nodding mutely, McCoy walked in, with Spock behind him.

* * *

Kirk greeted Spock in the mess hall the next morning. "Heard you took matters into your own hands," he mentioned. "How's Bones?"

"Resting, Captain." Spock did not quite frown as he reflected on the night before. McCoy had slept fitfully- tossing and turning on the couch he'd claimed as his own. Spock had removed him from the duty roster for today in the hopes that the doctor would sleep in and catch up on his rest.

"For a full day?" So Kirk had seen the change in the schedule. "He's not going to like that."

Underscoring his words was a growl and they turned to see McCoy standing there with a PADD in his hand. "What the hell is this?" he demanded.

"Doctor…" Spock began.

"Oh, don't you 'doctor' me, Spock! Why is it I walked into Sickbay only to find that I've been removed from duty?"

Kirk frowned. "You've already been to Sickbay? You haven't had breakfast."

McCoy ignored him. "You promised that it was just last night, Spock! That it _wasn't_ an indefinite relief of duty. So explain this!"

"You appeared to need more rest," Spock said.

McCoy fumed. "Not when I'm busy!" He snatched the PADD back and turned away, almost crumpling in countenance. "No rest for the weary…"

"Dr. McCoy." The use of his title from Kirk made the doctor pause. Kirk studied his friend closely. "See me in my quarters at 1200 sharp. Until then, you have a Sickbay to attend to."

McCoy nodded, rubbing his neck. "Thanks, Jim." He shambled out of the mess hall, a mere shadow juxtaposed to the emotional anger he had entered with.

"Captain, I do not believe that is wise."

Kirk put a hand on Spock's shoulder. "I know, Spock. But he clearly isn't going back to sleep now, and if working helps clear his head, then he'll work. Of course, only till lunchtime. I intend to find out what's going on." He clapped his shoulder once and left for the food synthesizers.

* * *

McCoy nearly missed lunch- nearly. Chapel must have been in on Jim's little plan (or she just had psychic powers) because she reminded him of the time and that he was supposed to be at the captain's quarters in two minutes.

And so he arrived, and Jim let him in. He was grateful when they sat down- he was too tired to stand for long.

"Long day, Bones?"

"Always," he replied as Jim poured their drinks.

"That tired?"

"I'm getting old, Jim."

Kirk glanced up at him. "Not that old."

McCoy hummed.

Conversation dwindled as they started on their meal. Kirk cleared his throat. "Bones… what's going on?"

McCoy looked up at the concern in his voice. The hazel eyes exuded genuine compassion. He was about to dismiss it, another "I'm fine", except…

Except somebody had _asked_. He hadn't just jumped to his own conclusions and tried to help, he hadn't skirted the issue, and he hadn't ignored it. He _asked_. Oh, it'd been so long since anybody asked, truly caring, how he was.

McCoy sighed and leaned back in the chair, deflating. "Everything," he murmured, his voice rough. "It's like everything's hitting me at once, Jim."

Kirk said nothing, but continued to watch and listen.

McCoy took a long drink. "It's not good for me to brood, Jim. It's- it's connected to a bad time." He shakily put his drink back down. "But after Kathala… and the questioning on Vulcan… it's like everything is hitting me and I can't stop it. I can't stop it. And it's all just pounding around in my brain. Kathala. The Vians. And xenopolycythemia. And the parallel-Spock, and all the captures and deaths, and-" he suddenly broke off and looked at Jim, eyes wide.

"It's moving backwards I'm terrified that- that what happened is going to come back a'knockin' and I can already _feel_ those thoughts and memories circlin' my mind and I'm tryin' not to think about it but the more I do that the closer it presses 'n'm barely holdin' on to my _sanity_ and-"

He broke off when Kirk laid a hand on his shoulder- he didn't even notice when he'd gotten up. The grip was comforting. He took in a shaky breath.

"I can't stop thinking about it all. I've tried, I've _tried_ but it's in my nightmares, my thoughts, everywhere. I can hardly stand to stay in my room because there's nothing to do there but _think_."

Kirk squeezed his shoulder. "We'll stop it, Bones. Just hang on."

* * *

Late at night, Kirk sat staring at his computer terminal. A request for an override code blinked on his screen. He had his lips pressed to hands, his eyes darting back and forth as he wavered on what to do.

He respected McCoy's privacy, and respected closed medical records on top of that. He really didn't want to do this, but-

But McCoy was his closest friend, and vice versa. And this… mental angst was getting worse. He'd known Bones for a long time, but the doctor's references to the past "bad time" were details he'd never been privy to. If Bones started slipping before they made it to Gamma Outpost, he wanted to know what they would be dealing with.

Of course, maybe only M'Benga would know. But it was as deeply personal as it was medical. Kirk dragged a hand across his face and eyed the computer screen.

He could read the file- and break confidentiality. Or he could leave it alone- and only guess as to what his friend was going through.

He really wanted to help Bones.

So which would be the best way to do it?

"What would Bones do?" he murmured. His eyes flickered to the sleeping form on his couch. Well, that was negated. Bones was a doctor and had legal access to this file. He would open it to help his patient. But that wasn't exactly fair to his situation.

"Okay. What would Spock do?" He thought. Spock was logical- so Kirk had to put his feelings aside.

If McCoy progressed to a worse state- hard as it was to imagine- he would need support. He would need _informed_ support. If certain trigger words or phrases could be avoided, and if a plan for recovery could be developed while still on the _Enterprise_ , then the file would provide that necessary information. Even if McCoy's condition did not degenerate, the preparation for recovery aboard the _Enterprise after_ Gamma Outpost's care would help in ensuring that treatment went smoothly.

Kirk sighed, found his resolve, and opened the file.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It's done! Thank you guys, for all those reviews! I'm just so happy that a sequel exists that I finally finished! This chapter's a lot warmer, and takes a break from the angst, so find some hot beverage and enjoy!**

* * *

"Bones," Kirk said gently. "Bones?"

The doctor shifted and blearily opened his eyes. "What?"

Kirk smiled. "We're at Gamma Outpost."

McCoy stared at him for a moment, slightly dazed. "You woke me up for that?"

"Well, you looked to be having a nightmare."

The doctor grunted and slowly sat up. Nightmares were normal. That one… had been too close to home.

Kirk studied him as he stiffly rolled out of bed. He remained quiet as he got dressed, and watched for any bad signs. Hopefully Gamma Outpost would be able to help with this medical situation.

If they couldn't… Kirk didn't want to think about that.

So far, Bones was still with them. He would focus on that. "There's a program on Gamma Outpost I want you to see," he coaxed. "I think you'll like it."

"Yeah, sure, Jim," he replied dully.

* * *

Dr. Gasper had a very warm countenance and kind, homey feel that made one relax as soon as he entered the room. Kirk found that he rather liked him.

"Hello, Captain," Gasper shook his hand. "So you're the closest next-of-kin for Leonard?"

"Not by blood; we've just known each other the longest," Kirk clarified. "This far out… I like to think it means something."

"It means more than you know," Gasper replied. "While Leonard's in the other room getting acquainted, I figured this would be a good time to go over a few points. I have the medical files for him, and so we can correlate on his state and make any adjustments."

"I agree." They sat down and Gasper looked at him.

"Dr. Geoffrey M'Benga and Head Nurse Christine Chapel have both signed off on a PTSD diagnosis, even though we're just shy of the one-month minimum requirement," he observed.

"There haven't been any signs of him getting better, not even with medication," Kirk explained.

"Agreed. And, considering you are about to head into uncharted space, it's good to have this done now." He adjusted his glasses and studied Kirk. "Outside of the regular PTSD symptoms, how has he been?"

Kirk frowned. "Withdrawn. Anxious. Stressed. I guess the normal parameters of the disorder wreaking havoc."

"Has he been eating?"

"Yes, but less than normal."

Gasper nodded, taking notes. "Has he shown any suicidal thoughts?"

"Thankfully, no," Kirk admitted. "But we've been watching him closely, just in case."

"Yes." Gasper looked back up. "I've seen his file."

"That was a long time ago," Kirk said softly.

"True, and we don't want to regress there. Has that therapy worked for him?"

"Like a charm, until recent events kind of overwhelmed his techniques."

"Good, good." Gasper stopped writing. "Basically, we want to get him back on that line of thinking. It was a good plan they made for him back then, and it's worked very well all these years, so I see no reason to change it. All he needs is a little help to get back on that track." He smiled. "I think we should see how he's doing with our acquaintances."

They rose and Gasper led the way down the hall to another door. Kirk frowned at the odd noises coming from behind it. Gasper pushed it open and suddenly the noises made complete sense as they walked into a room full of puppies.

McCoy was in the middle, surrounded by them, and actually smiling. The little dogs crawled all over and around him, and Kirk found them so adorable that he was mildly jealous that the doctor got to play with them all at once.

"These are our youngest trainees," Gasper said proudly. "We still let them romp and play at this age before putting them through guide dog training. Leonard, how are you doing?"

McCoy could barely get a word out. He was sprawled on his back as several puppies climbed over him to lick his face. "Like I'm buried in tribbles!"

"I know the feeling," Kirk quipped.

"Well, once you free yourself we'll find you a slightly older friend to stick with you," Gasper smiled. McCoy managed to stand up and pick his way over to them. "Unless, of course, you want one of these?"

"Flattering, but a starship's no place for a dog," McCoy said.

"As a pet? No. But certain dogs are recognized as medical needs." Gasper turned away back out the door while Kirk and McCoy followed, intrigued.

"Here's our older group, ready to graduate," Gasper led them into another compound. A bunch of dogs, still young, but not tiny puppies anymore, looked up at their entrance.

McCoy halted. "I'm not blind."

"No," Gasper said gently. "But you've seen too much. They help with nightmares, too."

McCoy swallowed and looked out at the group of dogs. They were very well trained, but he didn't want some cold, on-duty dog. He had Spock for that.

Although- one dog had stood up on their arrival and halted on its way towards them… as if remembering 'oh yeah, I'm bound by rules' at the last moment. He walked over towards that dog- a dark chocolate lab- and lifted a hand.

"Can I pet it?"

"Sure," Gasper replied. "Others can't, but she's your dog."

McCoy settled his hand on her furry head and watched her tail wag. He smiled as she looked up at him. He liked this one. She still enough of a _dog_ that his felt his heart warming, and yet she was still trained to help him out.

"What's her name?" he asked, scratching behind her ears.

"Belle," Gasper replied.

McCoy chuckled. "Well, aren't you just a lovely Southern belle?" he cooed. She looked at him with gold eyes, a spunk and a wisdom sparking in both.

Kirk leaned in and whispered to Gasper. "I think this will work."

* * *

The newest addition to the _Enterprise_ had four legs, floppy ears, and brown fur. Not much needed to be done- they tweaked the synthesizers to also make dogfood, and Scotty rigged two waste contraptions –one in Sickbay, one in McCoy's quarters- that filtered out any unpleasant "gifts". Belle knew exactly what to do with these.

She'd also been bred to be hypoallergenic, so dog hair wouldn't find its way into unpleasant corners. This is what really allowed her into Sickbay. She never left McCoy's side, even when he worked. If he needed to perform surgery she'd lie down against the far wall and watch him.

Dr. McCoy's mood improved fairly rapidly. He started sleeping in his own room again, and eating regular meals. Hopes soared that he was cured.

Chapel learned not to be too hasty with thoughts like those when she walked into his office one day and found him alone. Belle had stepped out to use her facilities, and he was staring off into space. She started to put down her things, fearing he might slip into another panic attack, when the doors opened and Belle came charging in. She went straight to Dr. McCoy and started licking his hand. He moved his head towards her slowly and finally responded by petting her head. She rested her head on his lap, emitting a small whine whenever he started to drift off again. Chapel watched in fascination as McCoy's focus was redirected off his thoughts to the dog, and then gently guided back to his work. Smiling softly to herself, she backed out of the room.

* * *

"Are you sure about that, Spock?" McCoy clasped his hands behind his back and bounced on his toes, his eyes bright.

"Positive, Doctor. I am familiar with both species and there is a _large_ difference between them."

"But they're both fluffy, right?" McCoy edged forward, clearly enjoying himself. "Except maybe one's fatter than the other?"

"Doctor," Spock tried not to sound exasperated. "A sehlat is a squatter, cub-like creature with large fangs and a flat face. A hound is a more robust and ganglier animal."

McCoy bounced some more, grinning. "But hounds are better, aren't they, Belle?" Belle gave a short woof in reply.

Spock did not deign to comment, and was relieved of doing so when the turbolift doors opened onto the Bridge. McCoy and Belle followed him out and took their customary positions next to the captain's chair.

"Hey, Bones, good to see you back on the Bridge," Kirk commented.

"Thanks, Jim. You keeping everything from falling apart?"

"Trying my best." Kirk grinned. He looked down at the dog. "How's Belle?"

"Better than a sehlat!"

To their right, they definitely did not hear Spock sigh.

* * *

The evening was winding down. McCoy sat in his quarters before the computer terminal. A file was pulled up on the screen. He reached out a hand and rested it on Belle's head.

That had been… a rough time. He figured Kirk had probably read it, but he didn't feel angry. If anything he felt slightly relieved. He was grateful his friends had intervened before his traitorous mind thought back too far…

It looked so bland in his file. So matter-of-fact. It hadn't felt that way at the time.

It was right after he'd ki- his dad died. He still couldn't say it. His file didn't say it, anyways, just mentioned that he'd passed away. No one else knew the truth.

But what made it worse was that he'd been deep in the throes of his divorce, and a few days afterwards finally lost the custody battle for Joanna. And then they found the cure for David. He'd killed his father, his wife left him, and he lost his only child. He was wracked with guilt and terrified that someone would revoke his medical license- leaving him with truly nothing.

A good Samaritan had pulled him off the Sidney-Lanier bridge and dropped him off at the hospital.

He'd entered therapy, found a technique that worked, and put the past behind him. And that's what needed to happen again. He looked at the dates on his file… so long ago.

Belle nosed her way onto his lap. He rubbed her head. "I know, girl," he murmured calmly. "Time to start looking forward again."

He reached over, and closed the file.


End file.
